


And I Love This Place, the Enormous Sky

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Grounder Bellamy Blake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 14:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6054316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Skaikru needs an ally, and the Delphi Clan is willing. It might not be their tradition to seal such alliances with a marriage, but Clarke Griffin has always done what her people need. Bellamy can't help admiring that.</p><p>So he goes with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Love This Place, the Enormous Sky

**Author's Note:**

> BFF giveaway fic for [poeedamerons](http://poeedamerons.tumblr.com), who asked for grounder!Bellamy, arranged marriage, awkwardness, fluff, and baby feels. I hope you enjoy it!

Octavia's against it, of course.

"You don't have to come," he tells her, overly bright.

"If you're doing it, I'm coming," she snaps. "But I think you shouldn't do it."

"The Skaikru are strong and they want peace," he says. "It's a better arrangement than I'd get with the Azgeda or Trikru."

"They _say_ they want peace. But they're the ones who _fell out of the sky_ \--"

"Fell," he reminds her. "Out of the sky and directly into a war zone. They've been doing fairly well, considering the circumstances." He runs his hand through his hair, wishing it was--different. He's not worried about making a good impression on her, not really. He knows Clarke of the Skaikru has agreed to this union for political gain, without any romantic notions. He's never met her, but he knows she's one of their leaders, and he knows they've been making decisions for practicality, not for sentiment.

Still, he doesn't want to make a _bad_ impression.

"They're not sending one of their leaders to live in Alexandria with us," O says. "They're just taking you."

"Their other leader isn't going to have a marriage that produces children," he points out. "This is a good compromise."

"I don't see why we're compromising with them."

"They can't go back. We either live with them or we kill them all. And I don't see much point in killing them all, even if we could. And I don't want anyone else killing them all either. It's a waste of lives."

"They're a bunch of untrained children," Octavia mutters, and Bellamy stifles a smile. They _are_ young, he knows, but they're probably older than his sister. And what they lack in training, they're so far making up for in resourcefulness and innovation.

The envoy had arrived last week, a dark, quiet boy named Wells, along with Lincoln, former Trikru, who apparently defected after the Skaikru saved his life. Lincoln had done most of the talking, knowing the etiquette Wells did not. Lincoln had told them what an alliance would mean, and Clarke had agreed to it, although it wasn't their way.

"They are reasonable," Lincoln told Aurora, soft. Lincoln had the kind of softness that made people listen. "They want peace. It will take time, but they wish to try."

And now Clarke is coming here to marry him, and he's going back to live with her.

Traditionally, it's an exchange, a leader's child for a leader's child, but Clarke is too young to have children of her own to offer. Nathan, their other leader, is just as young, and only interested in men besides, so while a union with him would be fine, his mother wants something that will provide children, something that will tie them more firmly than mere words.

So Bellamy will marry Clarke, and go to live with the Skaikru, and three of her people will come, in exchange for him, Octavia, and Monty. If all goes well, one of them will marry one of his people, someday, or O or Monty will find their own match among the Skaikru and move back to Alexandria with them.

It wouldn't have been his first choice for his marriage, really, but it helps that he had no first choice. He's promised to no one, and while he had prospects in other clans, he wasn't invested in any of them. And, if he's honest, he's curious about this sky girl, who fell to earth fighting and hasn't stopped, but _wants_ to. Who will give up herself for it. This is a custom for his people, not hers, Wells explained; they don't do this. But Clarke wants peace, and this is how they can get it.

"Look what they've done as untrained children," he tells his sister, finally. "Just think about how much better they'll do with us to teach them." The sentry horn blows before she can respond, and he lets out a breath. "That's them." He offers his hand. "Are you going to come meet them, or sulk?"

Octavia takes it, lets him pull her up. "I can do both," she says, and he grins.

Clarke of the Skaikru isn't dressed for a wedding, but she's been traveling for two or three days, so he wouldn't expect her to be. She looks--he's not sure how she looks. Young, for one. Closer to Octavia's age than his own. Her expression is hard but not harsh, detached and stoic without being angry. She's giving nothing away.

And, honestly, she's lovely, with long pale hair and delicate features. A nice body, which he feels a little guilty for noticing, but--he is going to _marry her_. He's expected to produce a child with her. It's just as well he can't help noticing she's attractive.

She's flanked by Lincoln and a few others, two boys and a girl, presumably the Skaikru who will stay with them. Wells is going back, he recalls. That's good news, at least; he likes Wells. 

"She doesn't look like much," Octavia grumbles.

"Be nice," he says. He can't quite take his eyes off her. "That's my wife you're talking about."

*

"He's not bad," says Wells.

Clarke snorts. "Ringing endorsement, thanks."

"No, really," says Wells. "He's smart and capable. He's a teacher."

"A teacher?" she asks, genuinely surprised. "I thought he was--is it a prince? The Queen's son?"

"No, Aurora is just called Chief. He's the chief's son. Her daughter is a warrior, she'll be the chief after her mother passes. He's a respected member of the society, high-ranking, but, yeah. Teacher."

"Oh."

Clarke had a picture of the person she'd be marrying, and she knows it was an unfair one. It's easy to think of the grounders as _other_ , a society made up of nothing but warriors, uncivilized and barbaric. But their own society is a mess right now, all criminals, trying to put together a functional community out of ruins. If anyone's uncultured and unstable, it's her own people.

"I think he'll probably be good for us, honestly," Wells goes on. "His sister is coming with us for the first year, they're really close. Don't fuck up, or she'll definitely murder you."

"Noted."

"And then they're bringing an apprentice healer too. He's a good guy, great with plants, really interested in our technology. He and Raven are going to get on like a house on fire."

"So you think it's a good idea?" Clarke asks. "Still?"

"Honestly? I think it's a better idea than I did when I came here," he says, and Clarke smiles. "Better than the alternative."

"Yeah," she says, letting out a breath. She _does_ believe it's a good idea, she really does. They lost touch with the Ark last week, and even if nothing catastrophic happened, their last update was that it would be a month before they were ready to come down. When she was up there, running out of air, a month felt like nothing. But on the ground, it's an eternity, and there will be _winter_.

And she has concerns, honestly, about their little society, if the Ark does come down. She and Miller have found a balance, fought for it and bled for it, and she doesn't know if it will survive a new regime. They need allies of their own. A place of their own. They need power, against the Trikru and the other grounders, and maybe even against their own people. 

Lincoln had suggested the Delphi Clan. Lincoln, whom they'd nearly killed for spying on them, before they saved him after he got injured in an altercation with his own people. 

Clarke doesn't know what she'd do without him. She can only hope she'll be so lucky with her husband.

"What else can you tell me about him?" she asks Wells.

"Not a lot. He's twenty-three, a capable fighter in his own right. He trains with the other warriors in the morning. He wasn't very involved in the peace negotiations." He pauses. "He did ask me if you were sure, since we don't do political marriages. So he cares about that."

Clarke nods. "Good."

Lincoln had pointed him out when they came in, him and his sister both, and Clarke had liked the look of him, as much as she could, from a distance. He has freckles. She likes freckles. It's not what she'd base a marriage on, if she had her way, but she doesn't. And when she met his eye in passing, he gave her a raise of eyebrows and a wry half smile, like they were sharing a joke.

And Lincoln has a good opinion of him too. That's not nothing.

Wells claps her on the shoulder. "We can still get out of it, though. They might take the deal without the marriage. Just the exchange of people, and the possibility of future marriages working out."

Clarke shakes her head. "No. We need something concrete. And this is what we have. It's the right decision, Wells. We both know it."

He grins, genuine, and kisses her cheek. "You're breaking my heart."

She has to smile. It had been hard, the first few weeks, Wells working through his crush on her while she worked through her thing with Finn, but they're good now. He's not thought of as a leader, in part because the rest of the hundred could only take so many rich kids bossing them around, and Clarke's more assertive than Wells, but he seems happy, as something of an adviser.

They have a pretty decent society worked out, if she does say so herself.

"Your heart will survive." She lets out a breath. "Okay. They dress me?"

"It's not like we have any real wedding traditions we care about," Wells points out. "So yeah, we're following theirs."

"Got it."

"Are you sure? Last time I'm asking."

"I'm sure," she says. She rubs her hands on her jeans. "He's cute, right?"

Wells snorts. "Adorable," he says, and Clarke leaves him.

There's no real ritual to the preparations; they just seem to think Clarke should be clean and presentable for her wedding, which she appreciates and agrees with. The Ark doesn't have a lot of remaining traditions--marriages tend to be quick and functional--but Raven did send her with something old (her father's watch), something borrowed (the bird necklace, the one from Finn), and something blue (a bracelet of dried flowers Fox made), and that makes it feel like something that's _hers_ , too. It might not be the wedding she ever thought she'd have, but it feels a little less like she's going into a negotiation than it might have.

Of course, she still hasn't officially met her betrothed. But apparently that _is_ still a tradition, not seeing the groom on the wedding day. When the wedding day and the day you meet the groom are the same day, it can get awkward.

But Wells likes him, and Lincoln likes him. And he's a _teacher_. They could probably use a teacher. 

"There," says one of the women, Violetta, finishing with Clarke's hair. "You look lovely. How do you feel?"

It feels safe to say, "This isn't exactly how I imagined my wedding day."

"Bellamy is a good boy," says another woman. "Hotheaded when he was a boy, but he's grown up well. Good with children, you want that in a husband. And loyal. He'll treat you well, you can be sure of that."

Clarke smiles. "That's good. I'll do the same for him."

And then it's time for her to get married.

They talked her through her role in the ceremony while they dressed her, and Clarke reviews her duties as she walks toward the square where the ceremony will be held. She'll hold his hand. She'll tie a string around his wrist. She'll feed him a cake. She'll swear herself to him. And then they'll kiss, and it will be done.

He's already waiting, shifting a little on his feet in front of his mother, who will perform the ceremony. She didn't get a very good look at him before, just the impression of tan skin and dark curls, the freckles on his face and the smile. He's changed clothing as well, not dressed in the endless layers she associates with grounders, just a simple tunic and pants. His hair is still a mess, which makes her feel--better, strangely. There's something comforting about the way the wind catches the curls, the way he tries to pat them down before the girl standing next to him elbows him, and when he turns to see Clarke, he gives her a sheepish smile, which she returns without any hesitation.

He has a sense of humor and a nice smile. She could do much worse.

There are a few words in their own language, different from the Trikru variety of Trigedasleng, but clearly related, and then she switches to English for the instructions.

It's as she was told. They tie string around each other's wrists, in place of wedding rings. They feed each other small cakes, which is awkward, and she nearly giggles. There's a glint in his eye that says he can tell. 

His voice is deep and rough, warm. She likes his voice a lot. As things to like about a new husband go, it's not much, but as with everything else, it seems better than the alternative.

The press of his mouth against hers is dry and quick, perfunctory, the final step in their marriage.

He smells good.

Aurora says, "It is done. We are joined," and just like that, Clarke has a husband.

*

It's Bellamy's last night at home, which is strange to think of. It's not as if he'll never come back, but he'd never really thought of leaving, and it's foolish. He knew he was a good prospect for a marriage like this, that he was likely to be traded somewhere else. In a way, the biggest surprise is that it's taken this long.

Clarke, Wells, and Lincoln are with the Skaikru who are going to stay here, who he learned are named Finn, Harper, and Sterling; he assumes they're saying saying goodbye. The two of them will leave first thing in the morning, with Lincoln and Wells, and these three will be alone in an unfamiliar place, without an ally.

He glances around, finds his friend Hector in the throng of people, drinking with Octavia, of course.

"Any of them your type?" he asks, jerking his head to the Skaikru.

"Your wife is cute."

"Any of the ones who are staying," he says, rolling his eyes. His wife _is_ cute, but it's beside the point.

Hector shrugs one shoulder. "Not yet."

"Well, if they go back on the deal, I'm stranded in enemy territory with a wife who looks like she'd murder me if she thought she had to," he says. It's not a bad thing, as far as he's concerned; the Skaikru have proved adept with large-scale violence and the impression of strength. With the numbers they have, they need to be willing to be ruthless in their shows of force. He'd just rather she never needed to be ruthless at him. "So be welcoming."

"This is why you're taking Octavia, isn't it," he says. "So you can force her to be welcoming."

"Exactly." He glances over at the Skaikru again. "I should talk to her, right?"

Octavia rolls her eyes. "At some point, you won't be able to avoid it. You did marry her."

"She's saying goodbye. They deserve some privacy."

He waits until they've broken apart as a group, hesitant, branching out like they aren't sure it's safe, before he goes over. It's just her and Wells left, and he likes Wells, for all he doesn't really know him.

"Hi," he says, sitting next to her and offering his hand. "I'm Bellamy."

It startles a laugh out of her, like he hoped it would. She's still wearing her dress, but she's taken her hair down. She looks soft in a way he suspects he shouldn't get used to. 

"Clarke," she says, and shakes. "Nice to meet you."

"You too."

He nods, considers her. "So, how's space?"

She laughs again. "Space?"

"You know, where you came from. What's it like?"

"I guess I never--" She considers, bites her lip. "It was all I knew for so long. I thought it was all I'd know for my entire life, you know?"

"Not at all," he says. "Tell me."

She looks at him again, and this time he feels it down to the soles of his feet, and evaluation he has no idea if he's passing. "My father found a flaw in the oxygen system," she says. "We were running out of air. He told the council, and they killed him."

"Not a great way to show gratitude," he remarks, keeping his voice light. This is a test. "If someone told me there was a problem I needed to fix or I'd die, I'd thank them."

"He thought people should know. The council--my _mother_ \--thought it would cause a panic."

He leans back on his elbows, considering. "It still seems like an overreaction. But I guess banishment isn't an option, if you're on a space station."

"No."

"Imprisonment?"

"Only for children."

He frowns. "Really? For _children_?"

She looks down at her hands, like she's embarrassed. "Under eighteen, you go to the Sky Box. Over eighteen--I guess it's kind of like being banished. You were sent off the station." Her smile is bitter. "It's just harder to survive getting thrown into space."

"Sky Box," he repeats. "Which is prison."

"Yeah. If you break the law, you stay there until you turn eighteen--"

"Wait. Always?"

She frowns. "What?"

"Any law?"

"Any law."

"When I was eight, I stole my aunt's combs," he says. "They're silver, really valuable. From before the bombs. She was furious, and she punished me. Are you saying up there, I'd be put in prison for ten years for that?"

"If she reported you and it was deemed enough of a crime."

He considers, but he's going to say it eventually. Might as well get it over with. "Space sounds awful."

"That's where we came from," she says, playing with the hem of her dress.

"I know, but--"

"No, not space. The Sky Box."

"How long had you been in there?"

"Me? Just a few months."

"What did you do?"

"The same thing my dad did, I knew about the air. I just wasn't eighteen yet."

He rubs his face. "Seriously, that's--"

"I know." She shrugs. "It was just--what we did. You raise kids to be fighters," she says, defensive and accusatory all at once.

"Yeah, but we _raise_ them. We don't throw them in jail for their entire childhoods for nothing."

"It's not nothing. Crimes have to be bad. You don't get put in for--"

"Knowing that the oxygen system is failing," he says, and she winces.

"Yeah, okay. But--we're going to do better, down here."

He believes her. "How old are you?"

"I turned eighteen last week."

"Happy birthday."

Her smile is hard. "Thanks. I celebrated by blowing up a bridge and killing a lot of people."

"We usually have cake."

She laughs again at that, her surprised laugh. He's hoping at some point she'll stop seeming shocked every time she smiles. "That's a good suggestion. I should try that next time."

"Well, that's what husbands are for," he says, and he sees her stiffen.

"I guess you were expecting this."

"Which part?"

"Marriage."

"I wanted to get married, yeah. You didn't?"

"I would have had to, yeah." At his puzzled look, she raises her eyebrows. "What?"

"Lincoln said you didn't do political marriages. I figured it was a choice."

"We don't. But--population control. All women who were capable were required to have one and only one child, and all couples had one to raise. You didn't have to marry the person you had the child with; I could have married a woman. I like women too. But we would have been paired with two men who couldn't have children, or something along those lines."

"Huh." He clucks his tongue. "So let's say we're up there. And we decide we want two kids. And, uh, my sister wants zero kids. You'd both be required to have exactly one kid? Even though it's the same net number of kids either way?"

"Well, if we were up there, your sister wouldn't exist," Clarke says, but she doesn't sound offended. "I didn't make the rules, okay?"

"Yeah, but who did? And why did anyone let them?"

"Tell me more about your laws so I can make fun of them." Her eyes go haunted, just a little. "You can't say we're the only brutal ones. I've never--"

She's eighteen, and she's never seen a war before. She must have seen bad things, in space, but-- "When you grow up with something, you don't question it," he tells her. "Not until you're older. I don't know. Maybe I'd trade endless war and radiation for the inability to have a more than one child and the constant threat of death for committing a minor legal infraction. And you probably think we could be--different."

"I don't know that much about you. This is honestly the longest I've ever talked to anyone from the ground."

"Well, good news," he says. "We're going to get to know each other a lot better."

*

Clarke knows they're supposed to produce a baby. It's why she was the only one in consideration for a marriage, because Miller doesn't like women at all, and Clarke likes both. Miller could have produced a child, like he probably would have on the Ark, but it seemed silly to make him do it, when Clarke had the possibility of actually liking her husband someday.

And she does like him, in a limited sense. He's intelligent and interesting, easy to talk to, and he makes her smile, which she hasn't been doing much recently. 

He's critical of her society, but her society probably deserves it.

He's very, very handsome by firelight, and he still has a lot of freckles, and a scar just over his mouth that became incredibly distracting, once she started drinking.

But she's still not really ready to start having his children. She's not sure she's ready to start _trying_. She rushed into things with Finn, because everything was _new_ on the ground, everything moving so quickly. She doubts it will go wrong with Bellamy like that, because he probably wouldn't have married her, if he had someone else. Except maybe he had to.

"You don't have a girlfriend, do you?" she asks him, as he's helping her back to his house. They'll sleep there tonight and be gone in the morning. She'll be a little sad; it's a nice town they have here. He probably has a real bed.

"I have lots of girl friends," he says, absent. "I'm closest to my sister, but I've always gotten along pretty well with women."

"No, a _girlfriend_."

"Are you drunk?"

"Maybe you don't call it that. Someone you loved. Someone you would have married, if you didn't have to marry me."

"Oh. Partner," he says. "We usually just say partner. Girlfriend and boyfriend are considered archaic, because they're gendered." He's not nearly drunk enough. "And, no. If I had one, I wouldn't be marrying you."

"Finn," she says, remembering the last boyfriend she had. "He's staying here with you because he fucked me over and he fucked Raven over. Do you still say fuck? Is that archaic?"

"Swear words are forever. Can you get out of your dress? What do you want to sleep in?"

"I've been sleeping in my clothes," she says. She wets her lips. "I assume we're not going to sleep, though."

He snorts. "Speak for yourself. I had a very long day." She's not sure what she looks like, but his expression softens. "It's typical for the physical side of these marriages to take time, Clarke. We're expected to have a child, we're not expected to have one right this minute. We can get to know each other first."

She thinks about arguing; she almost wants to just _get it over with_ , but she thinks it might hurt his feelings, if she said it like that. It's nice, that he wants to wait. 

"So what are we supposed to do on our wedding night?" she asks.

"Celebrate, get to know each other, sleep. We've already done the first two. Do you want me to help you get out of the dress?"

She nods, and his hands are gentle as he undoes the buttons on her back, his fingers slightly rough when they brush her skin. It makes her shiver, but he doesn't mention it. "So, the guy who fucked you over," he says, conversational. "Tell me about that."

"Like I said, we were in the Sky Box. We're all criminals."

"I'm taking that with a grain of salt."

She smiles. "Yeah, some more than others. It's--we have murderers and we have kids who got caught smoking weed."

"I assume a specific weed," he says. "A lot of them don't do much when you smoke them."

"Marijuana. Hemp?"

"Yeah, we've still got that one." He pauses. "I'm never going to stop telling you how shitty that is. As a way of dealing with kids, especially."

"Well, they're gonna be your problem now," she points out. She slides the dress off her shoulders and feels so much better, instantly. It didn't fit her quite right, and there was some uncomfortable boning in the corset area. Being down to her own undergarments is such an improvement that she almost forgets Bellamy is there. She flops back on the bed, which has a real mattress and some very nice quilted blankets. It's the best thing she's felt since she came down here.

It's a few minutes before she realizes Bellamy hasn't said anything, and when she opens her eyes, he's staring at her openly. She knows the flush creeps all over her skin, that he must see it, but she doesn't mind enough to cover up. 

"Change your mind about the wedding night?"

He shakes his head, visibly coming back to himself. "No, uh--I've never actually seen--"

"What?"

"A bra."

"I thought you had a sister." 

He tugs his shirt over his head and sheds his pants, sliding into bed in nothing but a pair of shorts. "We have corsets, okay? Which are also nice, don't get me wrong, but--that's new." He tugs the blankets over them. "I still want to hear about this guy. We keep getting distracted. Should I be warning people about him? Are you sending your rejects to us? That's not how you foster good relationships."

"Not-- _really_ ," she says, careful, and he snorts. "Like I said, we were in the Sky Box, and then we got sent down here. Wells and I were the only ones who knew about the air supply. They sent us because they didn't know if we could survive on the ground. We didn't know there was anyone down here. They thought we'd just die, and if you say anything about how fucked up that is, I am never going to finish this story."

"Okay. But it is."

"I know. So, yeah. We were supposed to be in contact with them, but something went wrong with our communications, they assumed we were dead, and we assumed none of them would ever come down. That it was--that we were it."

"And they haven't, right?"

"Not all of them. But they're working on it."

"And you're still making alliances? Without them?"

"I'm not sure most of us want to rejoin them if they do come down."

"I'm shocked. It's almost like they threw you guys in prison and--"

She elbows him. His skin is smooth and he's got a lot of muscle definition. " _Anyway_. Finn and I kind of--we had a thing. I liked him. He liked me. We--yeah. And then his girlfriend came down. She's the one who got us back in touch with the Ark. She's a genius."

"Did you two ditch him and get together instead?"

"I wouldn't have married if you if we had."

"You would have broken it off," he says, with surprising conviction. "Your people need this."

"We do. But no. Raven doesn't like girls. And I wasn't--I had more important things to think about. But Finn's been a big supporter of peace, and it's--I think it will be easier. With him gone. And he's now single and unspoken for, so I think you don't have to warn anyone. It was a pretty singular situation."

"Good." There's a long pause and then he says, "So, no girlfriend? No boyfriend? No partner? No one you gave up on for this?"

"No one."

He shifts closer, puts one arm over her waist, hesitant, like he thinks she might startle or run. She does tense, can't help it, but she relaxes quickly. His arm is warm and firm, and he's a stranger, but a stranger she likes, so far. "Good," he says.

*

"So, you're Clarke," says O, leaning in close, inspecting her.

Bellamy rubs his face. He didn't sleep that well, nervous about disturbing Clarke, annoyingly turned on from the mostly naked girl next to him, sleeping peacefully, in her stupid _bra_ , which makes her breasts look amazing _and_ shows off a lot of skin. He's hoping she has some kind of sleepwear she didn't bring on this trip. Or maybe they won't share a bed when they get back. That would probably be smart, but he can't bring himself around to thinking it sounds appealing. Even with the loss of sleep, he wants to share a bed with his wife. His wife is great, so far.

"My sister, Octavia," he tells Clarke. "Be nice, O," he adds. It's too early for this. "In her society, you wouldn't exist."

This is the wrong tactic to take; Octavia just looks offended. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"No siblings on the Ark," says Clarke. She seems well-rested, at least, and not particularly afraid of his sister. "Your mom wouldn't have had another kid after Bellamy."

"No siblings?" she asks, agog. " _None_?"

"We had a limited air supply," Clarke said. "And strict population control, yeah." She glances back at her friends. "I guess you guys already know Wells and Lincoln, so we don't need introductions."

"Yeah. This is Monty, he's an apprentice healer. Monty, Clarke."

Clarke lights up. "Oh right, Wells mentioned that. We really need a good healer."

"Oh," says Monty, looking sheepish. "I am an apprentice, but--honestly, I'm a lot more interested in finding out about your technology."

"Wells said that too. Don't worry, we'll get Raven to teach you tech if you help me out. I'm our entire medical staff right now, and everything I know I learned from listening to my mom when I was a kid."

"Deal," says Monty, and the two of them start talking plants, off in their own world.

Wells falls into step with Bellamy. "You like her?" he asks, and Bellamy raises his eyebrows. Wells doesn't back down. "She's my friend."

"I know. You get that this is a political arrangement, right? I don't need to have a crush on her. We're making an alliance, not a love connection."

"And?" Wells prompts.

He gives it due thought. "And I like her, yeah. She's smart. I think we'll probably do pretty well together." Still, he can't help adding, "We have more important things to worry about than my marriage. We're coming to help you guys get ready for winter and protect yourselves from the Trikru and the Mountain."

"What is the Mountain, anyway?" Wells asks, perking up. "Lincoln hasn't told us much, except to stay away."

"That's because we don't know much, except to stay away," Bellamy admits. "People disappear in the Mountain. They don't come out. It's never been as much of a problem for us; we're too far away for them to bother with us, when they could get Trikru."

"That's where they were trying to send us," Clarke remarks, and he feels his shoulders tense, knowing she could hear them. Not that he said anything he regrets, but--he thought she wasn't paying attention. "To Mount Weather."

"They get worse and worse," he says, and she flashes him a smile.

"It was a supply depot, before. They thought we'd have the best chance of survival there."

"Well," he says. "You showed them."

It's a long hike back to the Skaikru camp, and it's not even much of a relief to get there, because it really _is_ a camp. A camp in the middle of Trikru territory, near enough to the Mountain to make them antsy too. No wonder they're having so much trouble; they landed in the worst spot he can think of and decided to settle down there.

"How attached are you to this place?" he asks Clarke, low.

She startles at his proximity, but recovers quickly. "What?"

"You're never going to get peace here."

"Why not?"

"You're directly in the crossfire between Trikru and the Mountain. Even if you made alliances with both of them somehow, you'd always be caught in the crossfire."

"So what do you suggest?" she asks, voice unreadable.

"Depends on what's in those walls," he says. "I'll--"

"Clarke!" says someone, and there's frantic waving from the gate. Clarke breaks out in a grin. 

"Miller!"

"Miller?" he asks.

"Nathan Miller. Our other leader."

"Right, you guys still have last names."

"That's not even weird, you--" He grins, and she grins back. "Shut up, Bellamy." Her attention swings back to the man on the wall. He looks about her age, which makes sense. They're all going to be eighteen, at the most.

Fuck. _Untrained kids_.

"I got married!" Clarke calls.

Miller looks between Bellamy and Monty. "Which one?"

"The one I'm talking to, dumbass. Open the door."

"We need a password."

"Yeah, you're right, I could be anyone."

The door swings open and Bellamy gets his first good look at the actual settlement. It's--questionable, at best. Not that he's judging, exactly. The Ark threw a bunch of teenagers at an irradiated planet in a tin can; it's a testament to Clarke and Miller's ability to lead that they're still alive after a month, and that they're seen as a real force to be reckoned with.

If he'd known what they were dealing with, he might have advised against the alliance. Except one of the things they're dealing with is Clarke, and he wants Clarke on his side.

"This is it?" O asks, and Bellamy tries not to wince.

"I raised you better than that," he says, and she rolls her eyes.

"You did not."

"Yeah, well, I should have."

"What?" asks Clarke.

"We've got a lot to do before winter," he says, careful. "Want to show me around?"

The tour makes him feel better. For one thing, they've accomplished all this in a _month_. For another, they're not as young as he thought they might be. They're mostly sixteen to eighteen, with no one younger than twelve. They're smart and resourceful, if not very experienced. They have a lot of potential to work with.

"We had Earth Studies classes," Clarke says, when he says as much. "They weren't really--it's been a hundred years, no one had any practical experience anymore. But it's better than nothing."

"This would be harder to move than I expected," he grants. "I still think it's worth thinking about going west after winter. But not before."

"West?"

"If you wanted to move toward the Trikru, you should have made an alliance with them," he says. "You went with us. So you'd be better off closer to our territory."

She nods. "You're right. It's just--we made this, you know? Our friends are buried here. If we leave--"

"If you leave, maybe you won't have to bury more friends," he says, gentle. "I'm on your side now, Clarke. This is how it works. My allegiance is to you. I'm going to tell you what I think is best. But it might be to try to start over somewhere new in spring."

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. "Okay," she says. "But let's survive winter first."

"Deal."

*

Bellamy is a fucking _godsend_.

Octavia and Monty are too, of course, the same way Lincoln was. They know about the ground, know things that Clarke and the rest of the Skaikru never could have learned in Earth Studies. 

Octavia and Lincoln take charge of combat training. They're a terrifying team, and Clarke doesn't think she's imagining the sparks between them. She has no idea what kind of marriage Octavia is supposed to make, as the future chief of the Delphi Clan, but if Bellamy doesn't seem worried, she sees no reason she should fret about it. She has enough on her plate.

Monty helps in the clinic at first, but it's clear it's not where he'll be most useful. Once he's taught Clarke all the healing herbs he knows, he and Raven are off on agriculture, sure that between the two of them, they can make a greenhouse before the snow starts. Clarke believes it.

And Bellamy is--Bellamy. They don't need a teacher, not really, but he's good with the younger kids, who tend to be a little lost, unsure of their place, not as suited to manual labor, less capable of going out on their own. Bellamy gives them things to do without seeming like he's talking down to them, makes sure they're occupied and productive, makes sure they're _happy_.

He bonds with Miller quickly. They're both outgoing when they need to be, with the same sense of humor, but Clarke's noticed their favorite thing is to just be quiet together, hanging out on the wall or at meals, not saying anything. They don't have to be leaders with each other, just kind of introverted kids. It's cute.

He still spends most of his time with her, though. Miller's on defense, Octavia and Lincoln have combat, and Clarke and Bellamy take charge of winter preparations.

"Is snow nice?" she asks him one afternoon.

He snorts. "For the first few days," he says. "It's pretty, if you're into that. Then it doesn't go away for three months and it's fucking awful. But maybe the novelty will last longer for you. I'm staying inside all winter."

Mostly, it's just nice to have someone who's _hers_. Not that everyone else isn't, but--she trusts him in a way she didn't expect to. When he says he's on her side, she thinks he means it. 

_Partner_ , she thinks, often. This is what it's like to have a partner.

The Trikru is even making peace, of a sort; Bellamy and Octavia's presence gives their people a validity they didn't have before. Octavia doesn't do any diplomacy directly, but she's around a reminder of the warriors they're allied with now, and while Bellamy tends to stay quiet during their meetings, not talking over her and Miller so it won't seem like the Delphi Clan is taking over the Skaikru, he's still at her shoulder, a representative of his people.

And, of course, sometimes he can't keep quiet. That's her favorite thing.

"You're a _record-keeper_ ," Anya snarls, the third time they meet. "What do you know of--"

"You want to see what we know of war?" he asks, voice dangerous like Clarke's never heard, and she thinks, for a second, that they might kill each other.

"No one wants to see that, dick," Miller says, deliberately casual, and the tension breaks all at once.

The three of them are a pretty good team, really.

"What did she mean?" Clarke asks that night, when she and Bellamy are alone. They still sleep together, even if all they do is sleep. Clarke doesn't know how to do more, and he's never mentioned it.

"Who? When?"

"Anya called you a record-keeper. What does that mean?"

His grin is sudden and boyish, delighted. "Right, you wouldn't know."

"Know what?"

"Come over here," he says, leaning over to root through his small bag of belongs. He brought very little with him, and she's realized what he did bring was entirely clothes and books. When Clarke sits down next to him on their pallet, he settles in close with a small, bound journal. "So, a lot of the tribes come from, uh--survivalists. People who had read too many books about the zombie apocalypse and decided they should make a bunker and try their chances. And, obviously, there were still--" He wets his lips. "A lot more people survived in bunkers than survived leaving them after. But the Delphi Clan, we're descended from this guy who was really, really upset about the Library of Alexandria." 

Clarke lets out a surprised laugh. "What?"

"I swear. He was sure that technology would go haywire after the nukes went off, which, yeah, it did. So he made this bunker was full of books and blank notepaper and we have all this history, and detailed written accounts about what's happened since the end of--society, I guess. And those are the values that he passed down to our clan. Obviously we're still--it's not like we can't fight. But we're the ones at coalition meetings who piss off the _heda_ by using the old names for the cities and reminding everyone how badly some stupid plan went the last time we tried it." He thumbs through the book. "And, yeah, I keep extensive records too. I got that gene."

"That doesn't surprise me at all," she teases. "Is this your diary? It's your diary, isn't it? Do you write about me?"

He laughs and finds a blank page. " _Dear diary, Today Clarke was wrong about how snow works_ \--"

"How was I supposed to know?" she asks, but she's laughing too.

It hits her all at once that they're leaning in close, pressed together, that he's warm and firm and he makes her _happy_ , makes her feel like there might be a future for them where they're not just struggling to survive, where they can have _lives_.

That he's her husband, and she loves him. That that's why she's so glad he's here. Not that he helps them, not that he cares about her people.

She loves him.

"Why did they change the names of the cities, anyway?" she asks him, mouth suddenly dry. She can't think about it. She needs to do anything else.

"Changing city names is a time-honored way of showing regime changes," he says. "Honestly, TonDC is awful, but it's still better than some of the other names."

Clarke settles in against his chest. It's getting cold; she's been doing it more and more, and he doesn't seem to mind. "Other names?" she prompts, and lets his voice lull her to sleep.

*

The Ark is probably dead.

It's strange to think about, but it's still surreal to Bellamy that the Ark was ever _alive_ , honestly. Sometimes he looks at Clarke and can't believe it, that she's an actual person who was born in _space_. He is married to a _space woman_. He'll occasionally try to explain this to her, usually when they've had too much of the moonshine Monty and Jasper started making, but she always just pets his hair and tells him he's drunk. Which is true, but the point still stands.

So it's hard for him, honestly, to think of the Ark as real, even though he's surrounded by Sky People all the time. He knows, from Clarke, what kind of timeline the Ark was working with. Their communications with the station went down right before Lincoln and Wells came to the Delphi Clan; that was _why_ they came. Raven tries, on and off, to get communication back, but she hasn't succeeded. For all she knows, there's no one up there to talk to.

He's been with the Skaikru for two months when Clarke breaks down in the dropship. He's not there, but Monroe is, and she comes to get him.

"I don't know what happened," she says, and Bellamy gathers Clarke up in his arms and brings her back to their room. 

"This is the day," she says. "If--" She swallows hard. "My dad's projection. If they weren't dead yet, they are now. Unless they're just--killed people to keep the air going longer." She lets out a long breath. "We might never know, Bellamy. What if we never know? Wells' dad is dead, someone shot him, we know that. But I don't--"

"Hey," he says, but he doesn't really know how to follow-up. He rubs his hand over her back. He's talked to Miller about it some, about the boyfriend and father he left up there, how he doesn't know if he'll ever be sure what happened to them.

Ships have come down, but they've never found survivors. They got to a wreck, once, and there were bodies, nothing even identifiable. Just burned flesh.

Clarke has always been quiet about it.

He tugs her closer. "I'm sorry," he says, and it feels so fucking inadequate. She seems so strong most of the time--she _is_ strong. It's easy for him to forget she's an eighteen-year-old girl who was thrown onto a world that's trying to kill her. It's just--it's his _life_. But it's strange and foreign to her the same way one-child laws and jails full of kids are to him.

"I know," she says. "I didn't even--I didn't realize I knew the date. I thought I forgot."

He kisses her hair, holds her close. "What do you need?"

Her laugh is soft. "What do I need?"

"Sorry, stupid question. What can I do?" 

"Tell me a story," she decides, and he does. He tells her stories until she falls asleep, and when she wakes up, she doesn't mention it again, not to him.

But she must tell the others, because Bellamy can feel the change. He's the one who explains it to Octavia and Monty and Lincoln, why it's quiet for a few days. It's not mourning, because they can't be _sure_. There are things that have crashed out of the sky that they've never found. There could be survivors out there, but they had to choose a day to give up eventually, and Clarke had one.

Raven stops trying to contact the Ark, Miller starts flirting with Monty, and no one mentions it again. They survive winter with only two deaths. Spring comes.

"Your wife isn't pregnant," Octavia observes.

"Not to my knowledge," he says, not looking at her. It's early March, and he's thinking about taking some of the kids back to his clan, to check in. The snow is cleared up, and a trip would be nice. It would do the younger ones some good, to see what kinds of things can be built down here.

Thinking about that is in all ways better than this conversation.

"Have you even slept with her?"

"Every night."

"You know what I mean."

"Are you actually asking me if I've had sex with someone?" he asks. "Because last I checked, you never wanted to hear about that."

"I'm saying, you're supposed to have a kid. And you love her. So I don't know what you're waiting for."

He almost winces. He and Clarke haven't talked about this since their wedding night, which he knows is stupid. Octavia doesn't have to tell him that. Of course it's stupid. It's possible if he had this conversation, he could be having sex with Clarke every night, instead of waking up hard while she pretends not to notice, getting himself off thinking about her mouth and breasts and--everything.

He loves everything about her. It's about the last thing he expected, from his marriage.

"It was a long winter."

"You know what keeps you warm in winter? _Sex_."

He squints at her. "Are you speaking from experience?"

She actually flushes, which is unexpected. "Of course not."

"Shit. Do we have to take you home so we can figure out if marrying Lincoln counts as further allying with the Skaikru or some fucked up thing with the Trikru?"

"He's Skaikru," O snaps. "And I never said it was Lincoln."

"No, it was just really fucking obvious." He sighs. "I was thinking we should go home for a few days anyway. You might as well come along and try to talk her into it."

Of course, if he, Octavia, and Lincoln are going, it's not like Clarke or Miller can go. He's not totally sure about all three of them going, but he probably needs to mediate between Octavia and their mom, especially if she's trying to get married.

"Don't publicize that we're not here," he tells Clarke.

"I was going to put up a sign."

" _Clarke_."

" _Bellamy_ ," she says. She's smiling. "You'll be gone for a week. If we get any visitors, I'll say you're reading in our cabin. Everyone will believe me. It's very plausible."

"I don't like leaving," he admits. He doesn't think their physical presence is really what's keeping Trikru and the Mountain away. They aren't a shield.

He'd just rather face things with her than away from her.

"It's a good idea," she says. She worries her lip. "You should ask your mother about relocating."

"Yeah?"

She nods. "I think--honestly, I felt like if we left here, they wouldn't find us. If anyone came down. I know that's stupid, staying at the dropship wouldn't magically let them find us. But--it feels like giving up on the Ark."

"I can see that," he says, careful.

"But it's a shitty place to live," she says. "We can do better. So--I'm open to suggestions. You're the one who has the map memorized."

"It's not _memorized_ ," he grumbles, and she just grins.

He still makes one last-ditch effort, the day they're leaving.

"I can stay," he offers.

"Say hi to your mom. Tell her we're good. See how our people are doing. Get us a new site. Maybe some horses, if you can manage it." To his shock, she leans up and presses her mouth against his, chaste and brief. "See you in a week."

He swallows hard. She's never kissed him before, and all he wants to do is stay here so she can do it again. "Don't blow anything up without me," he finally says, and she grins.

"You know Raven. I'm not making any promises."

*

Spring really is the time when a young man's fancy turns to love; unfortunately for Clarke, her young man is away, and everyone else is finding romance without her.

It's not even _fair_ ; she's been married for _months_ , and she still hasn't figured out how to tell Bellamy that she actually _likes_ him. The best she's managed is kissing him goodbye, and while the poleaxed look of total shock had been a little worrying, she still thinks he won't mind if she wants to do it again. He looked pretty happy, once the surprise wore off. 

But he's gone. For a _week_. And Wells has started wooing Raven, and Miller finally decided he could get together with Monty, and Octavia and Lincoln are (probably) getting married.

Which, again, Clarke is already married. She's just a little bitter.

"You told him to go," Raven points out. "He wanted to stay. You should have just told him if he didn't go, you guys could have sex."

"I assume he knew that," says Miller. He pretended he didn't want to be around for girl talk, but he hasn't left, so obviously he does. "He wasn't gonna have sex if he left."

"Clarke and Bellamy haven't consummated their marriage yet," Raven says, and Miller gapes at her.

"You haven't?"

"Nope," says Clarke.

"But--have you _seen_ him?" Miller asks, and Clarke glares at him.

"You guys can tell me how easy arranged marriages are when you have one. Until then, shut up." She puts her head down on the table. "I miss him and I'm horny," she tells Raven.

Raven pats her on the back. "Yeah, yeah. I know."

It's an uneventful week, except on the romance front. Monty's working on crops, even though they might not be here long. Raven's working on a generator, and Clarke and Miller are covering military training, which is mostly exciting because they're not terrible at it. Clarke's not one of their best fighters, but Octavia's been working with her one-on-one, teaching her to use her size, and she can hold her own.

They're going to survive. It's a heady feeling.

She's drawing up plans for better cabins, for the new place, or here, if they decide to stay, when Miller yells, "Leave, we don't want you back!" and she hears Bellamy call back, "Fuck you, you don't get a horse!"

She throws the sketchpad aside, gets out of the cabin just in time to see Bellamy dismounting. They have three horses, and packs, Clarke assumes with _supplies_ , but all she can see is him. He's looking around too, and when he spots her, he breaks out in a wide grin.

She throws herself in his arms so hard he staggers back, but he holds on tight.

"Hi," he says, into her hair. "I got you a horse."

"Thanks."

"And a few sites for a town." He squeezes her. "O and Lincoln got married. Your friends are doing well. Harper's got a partner. I missed you too."

"Miller finally made a move on Monty," she says. "Wells is so close to making a move on Raven. I've got new cabin designs for you to tear apart."

"Good." He squeezes her. "I need to tell them what to do with the horses." 

She slides out of his arms, and he just looks at her for a long moment, and then he leans down to press his lips against hers, firm. It feels like a promise.

"My mom asked if you were pregnant yet," he says, barely moving away. Just enough that he can meet her eyes.

"I think we should wait to get me pregnant until we've got the new camp set up," she says, and almost laughs at how his face falls. 

"Yeah," he says, looking embarrassed. "That's probably--"

She tugs on the front of his shirt. "Bellamy. You know how women on the Ark have one kid and one kid only?"

"Yeah, we're not up there anymore. You can, uh--" He frowns, looking adorably confused. "How many did you want?"

"I've got an implant," she says. "I'm not going to get pregnant until I disable it. No matter what I do. So, you know. You should take care of the horses. And then you should come home."

He wets his lips. "Oh. Yeah. I'll--yeah."

It takes longer than she expects, but he probably has stuff to do. Honestly, Miller is probably making Bellamy give him ten thousand updates, just because he saw them kissing. She'll get her revenge on him later.

"Fuck," Bellamy says, when he finally comes in. "I nearly strangled five different people." And before Clarke can reply, he's on top of her on their pallet, his mouth on hers, insistent this time, demanding. Clarke opens for him instantly, and he groans, tangling his hand in her hair, kissing her wet and deep. "Fuck," he says again. "Clarke, I--"

"You have to finish that sentence," she says, looping her arms around his neck, grinning. He grins back; she's never seen him look so happy.

"You're fucking amazing," he says. "I love you. God, I--" That sentence he doesn't finish either, and he just leans in and kisses her again instead, longer, and Clarke slides her hands under his shirt to tug it up and off.

"I love you too," she says. "I wasn't _just_ horny and alone."

He laughs against her neck, and then presses his lips to her shoulder, grazes his teeth there, making her shiver. "Okay, uh, please tell me you're still horny even if you're not alone," he says. "Don't tell me you got it out of your system."

"Who do you think I would have fucked?" she teases.

"You have hands." He goes for her shirt, and she sits up so he can tug it off. He grins at the sight of her. "I'm still really into your underwear."

"You're gonna be so sad when falls apart."

"I can sew," he says, sliding his head down to nuzzle between her breasts. "I will repair all your hot bras. I promise."

Clarke's hand fists in his hair as he slides one cup down, pressing his mouth to the curve of her breast, then to the nipple. His tongue darts out, and she bites her lip to keep in her moan. It's afternoon. There are probably people outside.

But she's not waiting another minute.

She arches up to unhook the bra and slide it off, pulls him back up to kiss her again sloppy and desperate. She wants him everywhere at once. His hand finds her breast instead, groping her with callused fingers, and she laughs.

"Glad you like them," she teases, and he bites her bottom lip.

"I fucking _dream_ about your breasts, okay?" 

"What else do you dream about?" she asks, innocent, and he laughs and gets her jeans off too, slides his hand into her underwear to rub her clit, making her whimper. It's been so _long_. Since Finn, but it had been fast with Finn, desperate and a little heartbroken too.

Not like this. Not her husband, whom she loves, who loves her back.

"Clarke," he murmurs, and she kisses him soft now, slow and easy.

"Yeah," she says.

The first press of him is _perfect_. He's large and thick, which she knew; she's caught glimpses of him changing, but it's nothing like _this_ , him pushing into her, slow and gentle, as she opens for him. He drops his forehead against her shoulder, swearing softly in Trigedasleng, and Clarke wraps her leg around him, pulls him all the way in, moans at the feel of him.

"Good?" he asks.

"Start moving or I'll murder you," she says, and his fingers find her clit again as he thrusts.

The first time, she comes quickly, and she's almost disappointed, but he kisses her hard and frantic and doesn't let up with his fingers, and she manages twice more before he groans and comes apart inside her, face pressed into the crook of her neck, close and hot and _hers_.

"I would have left earlier," he says, breathless, once he's collapsed next to her. His bare chest is still heaving, and he looks delighted and a little stunned.

"Is this supposed to happen?"

"I sort of thought you were familiar with the process," he says, sounding like he's genuinely confused, not just teasing her.

"I meant--an arranged marriage. Do you expect to--"

He rolls over to kiss her. "You don't expect it," he says. "No one sets up a match they think will be _bad_. But often it's just--you figure you'll be able to live together and have sex enough to produce at least one child." His hand comes up to brush her hair from her face, gentle. "It's not unheard of. But it's kind of awkward."

She laughs. "Awkward? Why?"

"Not _anymore_. Just until you can figure out if--" He laughs, soft and a little shy. "Did you have a few months wondering if it was entirely political on my side, or was that just me?"

Her own laugh is relieved, and she burrows into his side. "That kind of awkward," she says. "Yeah, I got that."

"I should have left earlier, like I said. I didn't know you'd miss me so much." He presses his lips to her hair. "You know it's not even dinner time yet, right? They'll be wondering where we are."

"My husband just got back from a trip," Clarke says, pragmatic. "They know exactly where we are. And if they know what's good for them, they won't bother us."

He pauses, and then rolls on top of her for another long kiss. "When you put it like that."

*

The implant fails after two months.

"Is it because I'm better at sex than Sky People, or do we just have more of it?" he asks, grinning, and she throws a cloth at him. "I guess you probably didn't have a lot of time for pleasure in your totalitarian regime--"

"You are so obviously descended from librarians," she grumbles. "Don't take too much credit. I checked mine because some other people were starting to experience symptoms too. I assume the radiation is interfering with the implants. We're taking them out to avoid complications with the birth, but--"

He traps her up against the exam table for a long kiss. "Clarke. You just told me you're having a baby. You can tell me about implants later."

"You're excited?" she asks, wary.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's a _baby_."

"Exactly. What's not to be excited about?"

She huffs, twines her arms around his neck, fingers idly toying with the curls at the nape of his neck, one of her favorite things to do when she's stressed. "I don't know much about babies."

"I guess you wouldn't. No siblings, no extended family--"

"One of my friends was pregnant," she says, so quiet he almost doesn't hear. He swings up to sit next to her on the table, and she leans against his side. "When I was put in the Sky Box. I wonder if she even got to--"

He hugs her around the shoulders. They don't talk about the Ark much, but he knows she still hates it, that she doesn't know. That she'll probably never _really_ know. "I like kids. We had a fever go through camp a few months before O was born. Her dad died from it, and so did my grandmother. Mom had all these new duties as Chief, so I helped out a lot with the baby. And I kept doing it after that. Babies are cute."

A smile tugs at her mouth. "That's what they told me."

"Have you never even _seen_ a baby?"

She laughs. "No, the women who helped get me ready for our wedding. They told me you were hotheaded when you were younger, but better now. Good with kids. So you'd be a good husband."

"Doing my best," he says, and she wraps her arms around him. He lets his hand settle on her stomach. His _kid_ is in there. "I didn't hear much about you."

"Really? Come on, you had a week! You could have grilled Lincoln and Wells."

"I didn't need to. I heard _how_ they talked about you. They loved you and respected you and wanted to make sure I was good enough. I didn't need to know you're grumpy all the time and like drawing. I knew I could marry you."

"I'm not grumpy _all_ the time," she says, scowling, and he laughs and tilts her chin up for a kiss.

"You'll be a good mother, Clarke." He slides off the table and offers his hand. "Come on, let's make sure the kid has a good place to live too."

And they do. The new settlement is finished by the end of summer, with help from his own people, and Clarke and Miller let him name it.

"I'm not Skaikru," he says, past a lump in his throat.

"You are," says Miller.

"Besides, if we name it, you're just going to make fun of whatever we pick," Clarke says, bright.

"You would never come up with anything as bad as TonDC," he says. "Also, did you know Polis was called _FU Mitch_ for three months?"

Clarke laughs, and Miller makes a face. "Who was Mitch?" he asks.

"Someone's ex, we think. He's not in the records aside from that. That's his only claim to fame."

"I'm so glad we have your clan around to keep history alive," Clarke says, patting his arm. "This is why you're picking the name."

He spends a few days agonizing over it, which Octavia grumbles is a lot longer than he ever took picking _her_ name, and finally asks Clarke, "Do you want to honor your totalitarian regime, or just forget about it?"

So they end up calling it Arcadia, and Bellamy loves it in a way he never loved his home in Alexandria, loves it because it's _theirs_ , his and Clarke's, Miller's and Monty's and Wells' and Raven's, even Octavia and Lincoln's, although they go back to his mother, once the construction is done. Octavia has her own duties, and it's strange to realize his place isn't the same as hers anymore, that it won't be ever again.

He's Skaikru now.

"I'll come back to meet my niece or nephew," Octavia assures him before she goes, and she keeps her promise, coming back in late winter, fighting her way through the snow with the Delphi Clan's best midwife.

His daughter is small and slimy and loud, like every newborn baby he has ever seen, except that she's _his daughter_ , and therefore by definition the single best thing in the entire universe.

"I wanna name her TonDC," Clarke says vaguely, still worn out from labor, and Bellamy loves them both like he didn't know was possible.

"That can be her middle name," he says, and they agree on Isolde, after Clarke's friend on the Ark who was pregnant and might have had a child or might have died before she could.

"Isolde TonDC Griffin kom Skaikru," Clarke tells Octavia, rocking the baby gently. Bellamy snorts and kisses her hair, and Octavia rolls her eyes.

"I'm just gonna call her Izzy," Octavia declares, and by the time she's leaving again, the nickname has caught on. She's not the first baby born to the Skaikru, but _everyone_ knows him and Clarke, so everyone feels like she's theirs.

He's going to have the most spoiled kid of all time. He's good with that.

"Okay, I admit it," Octavia tells him, saddling the horse. "The Skaikru alliance wasn't a bad idea."

"Don't knock me over with your enthusiasm," he teases.

O doesn't take the bait, just looks at him. "She loves you, right?"

The question catches him off-guard; it's been so long since he had to doubt that. "Yeah, of course," he says. "Seriously, O. Just because I didn't get to pick her like you picked Lincoln--" He swallows hard, unexpectedly emotional. "We're so fucking good, okay?"

And it's true. He had a good life, back in Alexandria. He'd been happy, mostly away from the fighting, away from the struggle to survive. His people were prospering. And it's been harder, with the Skaikru. Not like it would have been with one of the real warrior tribes, hard in different ways. Ways he hadn't ever expected.

But they've got a village with sturdy cabins and high walls, and he's got a wife and a daughter, and he couldn't have chosen better.

"I already said I was wrong," Octavia says, smiling. "You don't have to rub it in."

He hugs her, quick and fierce. He _does_ miss her, but not as much as he likes being here. "Yeah," he says. "Believe me, I really do."


End file.
